


Unsteady

by lonely_night



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Descriptions of suicide and violence, M/M, PLEASE HEED TAGS, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Strong Language, Time Travel Fix-It, Unreliable Narrator, more characters will be added as the story progresses, temporary employment in a sex club (like one chapter but still)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-05-28 23:31:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 12,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15060185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonely_night/pseuds/lonely_night
Summary: Time travel fix-it basically!May feature;- a plot- hopefully hilarious hilarity- confusion- an unreliable narrator- factually incorrect ‘facts’- sass





	1. The beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Well this happened a bit randomly, but mainly because I’m concerned about the lacking amount of Dumbledore/Harry fics that feature consensual anything!
> 
> I may a bit slow to update chapters so sorry about that, but still, hope you enjoy! Xox
> 
>  
> 
> IF YOU DO NOT LIKE THIS PAIRING, PLEASE DO NOT COMMENT TO TELL ME SO, thanks!

Harry sighed. He really hadn’t meant for it to turn out like this.

He lay on the floor, feeling his limbs slowly turn to lead.

He had failed them. All of them.

He wondered if this was the coward’s way out. Maybe. But Harry didn’t care; he would never have to live with it. Literally.

Putting a jumper over his face, Harry muffled his screams. The jumper smelt like Ron, his best mate, the shed smelt like Luna and her experiments, and the screams Harry was making reminded him eerily of his Mother’s screams when Voldemort had killed her.

But Lily Potter’s screams hadn’t been for herself, they had been for him. They had been for Harry. And now he was throwing it all away, not only his life, but hers too.

 

Suddenly, Harry realised that he didn’t want to die.

 

The memories of his friends, family, even enemies, strangers, swirled around his head, but they weren’t telling him he’d failed them, they will telling him that they wanted him to live.

Harry had picked the bottle up whose contents he had swallowed less than ten minutes ago, from Neville’s robes as he lay dying months ago. The label on the bottle still said ‘for easy ways out’, in Neville’s hasty, ink-smudged writing. Neville had begged Harry not to use it as the blood had seeped out of him and the breath had left him. Harry had promised.

It was too late now though, and Harry felt his beating heart slowing as an icy cold stole over him, reminding him of the dementors, and therefore of Remus Lupin. And Sirius. Tonks, and Teddy.

Harry groaned, the pain of all he had lost piercing him like a poisoned arrow.

He hoped he would see them all soon.

He wondered what they would say.

 

Harry’s vision faded, and his heart beat slowed to a stop.

He had the peculiar feeling of floating for what could have been hours, but was probably not more than several minutes, and then he heard a voice. It sounded like Hermione.

“Not yet Harry, there’s someone who wants to meet you...”.

 

 

And then Harry’s vision was returning, spots of black, murky brown and red dancing before his eyes. And then, sunlight.

His head throbbed. Someone kicked his leg.

Sound started returning to him, and Harry could hear lots of voices talking, the hubbub making him almost wish he was deaf again.

 

Opening his eyes properly, Harry winced. He realised where he was.

 

‘Knockturn alley’, read the sign on the wall opposite.

 

Harry sighed - seriously?!


	2. Knockturn alley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some rowdy teenagers that Harry knows very well pick a fight, and Harry finds a job.

Knockturn alley had to be the crummiest alley in all of England, as well as the most dangerous, with death eaters, dark arts masters, and good-for-nothing nobodies prowling the streets.  
Surely Hermionie’s voice had got it wrong. Who on earth would he want to meet in Knockturn alley? Harry had no idea.  
But more importantly, why wasn’t he dead?  
‘Ouch’, Harry thought stupidly, wondering if he had lost his brains as well. Looking up, he realised someone was kicking his leg again.  
Someone who looked rather worryingly familiar, only their face was younger than Harry remembered. He had only seen the other man this young once. In the diary. Harry bet his non-existent galleons that he was who he thought.  
“Get up,” snarled Tom Riddle, kicking him again, “lying on the floor - disgusting!”  
Harry checked himself as he reached for his wand - he didn’t want to start a fight, even if it was Knockturn alley where people disappeared all the time.  
Why did Voldemort look so young?? Why did he look like Riddle? Why did he look _human_?

Harry had a rather nasty thought.  
“What day is it?” he asked, putting on a gruff voice that sounded as though he smoked fifty a day. He felt a pang. What he wouldn’t do for a cigarette. ‘Nasty habit - it’ll get you killed!’ chimed in Hermionie’s voice in his head. Harry bit back the urge to laugh. He was already dead. Wasn’t he? Actually, Harry had no clue. Maybe he hadn’t actually died.  
Oops, Riddle’s mouth was opening, Harry tuned back into the present (was this even the present though?? shrieked Harry’s mind, confused).  
“28th July.”  
“And, uh, what year?”  
“1943,” Said Riddle disdainfully, “fucking nutter,” he said, walking off.  
Harry’s voice clearly had had the desired effect then (that he was just another homeless wizard), although at this rate he really would be sleeping rough.  
1943.  
Wasn’t Riddle only about sixteen or seventeen years old?? Harry wasn’t that surprised that he was already a dick though.  
Maybe Hermionie had sent him back to the past (because clearly that was what it was), in order to deal with Riddle before he became Voldemort? He had been the first person Harry had seen after all.  
And if Riddle was only seventeen then as soon as the summer holidays had finished he would go back to Hogwarts.  
Harry sighed.  
Riddle was long gone and there wasn’t any point in Harry expending the little energy he had left in going after him. He would have to wait until the summer to go after him, and infiltrate Hogwarts. Damn it. It really wasn’t a very good plan but it was the only one he had.

Until then, Harry would need some money because his vault at Gringotts wouldn’t be open yet. Weren’t there always job offers in the Leaky cauldron?   
Beginning to clamber to his feet, Harry looked around, gauging for the first time how deep he was into the alley.  
Or at least he would have if it wasn’t for the people around him, sneering.  
Harry was suddenly very aware of his ragged appearance, frayed top, and moth-bitten trousers. He wished that he could use a glamor to cover it, but it was too late - they’d already seen him. He might as well stay as plain old Harry.  
“Well, well, well, what’ve we got here?” croaked a dangerous-looking, tall teenager.  
“He’s a young one, ‘eh,” chortled a fatter boy, clapping his hands together in glee.  
“Handsome too,” drawled another lazily, “once he’s been cleaned up.”  
“Nah, best to leave him how he is - dirty,” cackled the obvious ringleader of the gang, striding forward.

Harry certainly was young. He was twenty five but the white flecks in his black hair from the stress of fighting the darkest wizard of the age made him look anything from twenty five to thirty. He was in good shape too, again due to engaging in constant battles with Voldemort and his twisted followers, but the lines of stress and exhaustion seemed to be permanently etched on his face. Harry’s green eyes were bright though, as they always had been, shining through even the darkest day.

The ringleader of the group brought a mud-encrusted finger up to Harry’s forehead and touched his scar, “what’s this?” She asked, a hint of disgust in her voice.  
“Don’t touch me,” Said Harry angrily, jerking out of her grip.  
“I’m only playing,” she pouted innocently, but Harry could hear the malice behind her words, “won’t you let me play some more?”  
The woman reminded Harry uncannily of Bellatrix LeStrange and he thought of her laughter after... after Sirius.  
Red hot anger coursing through him, he pulled out his wand. So much for not making a scene.   
“I wouldn’t do that if I was you,” the slimy man said, and Harry thought of Lucius Malfoy.  
The other two teenagers were obviously young Crabbe and Goyle then.  
How unfortunate.

Harry sent spells firing off in all directions, running to take cover behind a statue of a somber-looking man that looked disconcertingly like Gellert Grindelwald.  
“Crucio!” shrieked Crabbe, missing Harry by inches. Yikes. Although, he had been hit so many times by the cruciatus curse it was a wonder he wasn’t immune.  
“Stupefy!” He shouted at Goyle, who fell as the spell hit him squarely on the chest with such force that Harry was certain the man would be out for at least half an hour. Good, that was one of them taken care of.  
Whipping around, Harry sensed Malfoy coming up behind him, “avada kedavra!”  
Ducking, Harry ran out from behind Grindelwald’s statue as blocks of stone fell around him, and quickly cast a shield around him.  
“Stupefy!” Harry cried again, blasting Crabbe, who fell to the floor, unconscious.  
He heard an irritated snarl from Bellatrix, “avada kedavra!”  
“Protego!” he shouted.  
Unfortunately, the woman blocked the defensive spell. Damn. It would have been good if they had been one Bellatrix down in the world.  
Malfoy was onto his trail again. Shooting over his shoulder, he muttered, “immobulus,” giggling at the state of shock Malfoy froze into - priceless! Harry would have taken a photo if he wasn’t currently dueling against a hormonal, teenage Bellatrix LeStrange.  
“Avada kedavra!” She screamed.  
She had got Sirius. There was no way in hell that she would get Harry.  
“Pertrificus Totalus!”  
The girl froze, and fell backwards onto the fall, stiff as a board.  
‘Well, that was a job well-done’, thought Harry, as he made his way to the Leaky Cauldron at last.

Stepping inside, he realised that the shabby inn really hadn’t changed a bit.  
He walked up to the bar. “Uh, hello,” he said politely.  
The young man behind the counter grinned crookedly at him, and boy did Harry recognise that smile - clearly Tom had already stared serving here then.  
“Hello Mister, anyting I can getcha?”  
“I was wondering if you knew of any jobs available actually,” said Harry.  
If Tom was already the innkeeper though there might not be any jobs going spare, thought Harry worriedly.  
“Not ‘ere, naw,” said Tom, and Harry’s heart sank, “but t’is one o’er the street,” the man added, and Harry brightened considerably. “Might not be suited to yer tastes mind.”  
Tom blushed in return to Harry’s raised eyebrow.  
“It, err,” began Tom, faltering, “‘ere, take a flyer instead.” He passed a Harry an advertisement.  
It read:

_Good at entertaining crowds?_   
_Like to show off?_   
_Enjoying teasing partners with your amazing sexual talent?_

...’well that escalated quickly’, thought Harry, but he supposed he had had sex with a couple of people over the past few years, when he hadn’t been fighting Voldemort, and they hadn’t exactly run away screaming. Although, Harry had never liked showing off. Still, he needed a job so he read on:

_The erotic emporium needs YOU!_   
_Ready to show off you talents as a true artistic dancer?_

_Gender of no matter._   
_Apply below, or through Tom at The Leaky Cauldron._

‘Hmm’, thought Harry, he might as well give it a go, it might be fun! But more importantly, he needed money if he wanted to survive. And to get to Hogwarts.  
“Can you let the uh, ‘erotic emporium’ know that I’ll take them up on their job offer?” Harry said, addressing Tom, “and could you give me the address too, please?”

Tom wrote it down, and Harry took a room at the Inn, promising he’d be able to pay by the end of month, and desperately hoped that it was true. They’d better give him the job.


	3. The erotic emporium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone notices Harry during his dance. Harry notices him too.  
> It seems things are finally moving in the right direction.

A week later, Harry swung expertedly around the pole.  
If you had asked Harry when he was eighteen years old what he thought he would be doing in ten years time he would have said ‘working for the ministry, I hope’, or ‘hiding from the man who wants to kill me, dumbass’. Harry had to admit that becoming a stripper wouldn’t have been first on his career list.  
Still, no-one could say that Harry hadn’t thrown his all into it, and within five days he had become a near-expert, matching the skills of the other dancers at the club. It was a bonus that all the dancers and performers at ‘the erotic emporium’ were friendly and funny, even better still, their manager actually had a heart, which seemed to contrast with the majority of strip clubs that Harry had ever come across. Plus, they had let him keep his clothes on (due to his battles with The Dark Lord, Harry had scars everywhere that he wasn’t particularly fond of).  
It was Friday evening and the grand opening night for The erotic emporium.   
Harry was actually quite nervous, even though he and the others had their performance down to a tee. Apparently wizards and witches from around the country would be attended the opening night to welcome the all-inclusive diversity of the club - Harry had been informed that The erotic emporium was the first to open its doors to dancers of all genders and sexualities, which he was very proud of.

Taking his position at the corner of the stage (he was a beginner after all), by his pole, Harry let the stage crew dose him in a healthy amount of glitter and give him the thumbs up, and then the curtain was rising.

Yeek.

He walked up to the pole.

 

_*_

 

‘Okay, so maybe I could have been a bit more aware of my surroundings’, admitted Albus Dumbledore to himself. He hadn’t even looked at the name of the place, for Merlin’s sake!

Albus Dumbledore had been wondering around Diagon Alley fro quite a while now, looking for somewhere to stay the night. He had been in the middle of sorting through Defense Against the Dark Arts post applications, ready to enjoy a perfectly peaceful summer holiday at Hogwarts. And then, he had this pulling, nagging feeling that he ought to go to Diagon Alley. Albus had no clue why he had felt that way, which is why he had been roaming the streets for no particular reason, with no idea what he was looking for. He had stumbled against the strip club purely by accident, and, as he turned to leave, someone caught his eye.  
It was one of the dancers. He was in the corner of the stage, covered in glitter. But he was different from the others, Albus could sense it.   
The man was fully clothes which made him stick out from the others. That was strange. But there was something else about him. Something alluring. Strong magic crackled off him in waves.  
Before Albus knew it he was at the front of the stage, slightly to the right, merely watching the man shimmy and dance up and down the pole.  
Albus watched the man’s back and butt as the dancer performed a particularly complex twirl. And then the man turned to face him.  
Bright green eyes met his sea blue ones with such an intensity that Albus almost dropped the drink that he didn’t realize he had been holding.  
He found himself unable to tear his eyes away.

 

_*_

 

  
It was five o’clock on Saturday morning and Harry was very, very tired. His muscles ached. Who knew pole dancing was such an art?  
He had finished about an hour ago, and there was only a straggle of customers still waiting around to congratulate their favorite dancer.

A man with beautiful auburn hair was sat around a table alone. Harry instantly recognized him when he looked up. Harry recognised the blue eyes, bluer now that they had seen Harry. He was the man that Harry had spotted during his first dance. The man that had stayed watching him the whole night. He had given Harry strength to continue.  
Harry blinked as the man’s eyes twinkled at him. He recognised the man, and not from last night. This man was Albus Dumbledore, his former headmaster. Future headmaster. Whatever.

He was a very young Albus Dumbledore. And a very good-looking one, with his auburn hair, tall figure, and sparkling blue eyes.  
Albus Dumbledore, his past/future headmaster who Harry thought was hot and who had just watched him dance around a pole in a strip club. Awwwwwkkkwarddddddddddd!

Albus Dumbledore beckoned him over.   
"Hello", he said gently, "my name is Albus Dumbledore".  
"Harry", said Harry.  
"You dance magnificently, Harry", Albus said quietly, saying his name as though it was a prayer, and then he added regretfully, "but I’m not here to talk about your dancing".  
Here, he paused and reached into his pocket to retrieve a copy of ‘The Daily Prophet’, "I was wondering if this was you, Harry?" Albus inquired, pointing to a man that looked very much like Harry who appeared to be firing stunning curses at a group of people in Knockturn alley. The headline read, ‘Yet another attack in Knockturn alley but this time there’s a twist’. It was not the catchiest headline, but still. Harry would have been flattered to be in The Daily Prophet if it wasn’t for the fact that his entire teenage and adult life had been reported in the newspaper, and mostly incorrectly too.  
"It is you, isn’t it?" Albus continued, sounding more curious than accusing.  
Harry quickly brought up his occlumency shields. "I suppose he does look a bit like me…" he said, manipulating his voice to make it sound like he was doubtful and unsure.  
"Well", said Albus, "let me know when you’re certain, only I have a certain free DADA post at Hogwarts that I am confident this man would be excellent at".  
He winked at Harry’s rather stunned face, and walked off.

 

Harry had an owl mailed and his bags packed within the week.  
Hogwarts, finally!  
Harry was going home.

 


	4. Volver - to return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry returns to Hogwarts and meets Lucy.

Harry looked around his room.

If he was honest he hadn’t seen such a beautiful chamber in a long time. The place was pristine, but looked like it could be made more comfortable within a few days of Harry’s general messiness. There was a beautiful wooden desk and chair and the bookshelf appeared to be full of all his favourite books and plays, the walls were wooden and cosy, and roaring fire crackled in the grate.

His window looked out on the lake and the forbidden forest, and Harry sat down on his bed, watching the giant squid playing happily in the sun.

There was a knock on the door and Albus Dumbledore walked into the room, “ah, Harry, I see you’re all settled in?”

“Uh, yeah,” said Harry, not mentioning that he was so quick in unpacking because he had literally no belongings.

“I trust you like the view?”

“Yes, it’s beautiful, I particularly like The Forbidden Forest.”

To his surprise, Dumbledore’s eyebrows shot up, “are you referring to ‘The Highly Discouraged Forest?” He queried, looking confused.

Oops.

Harry threw up his occlumency shields and tried to look Dumbledore in the eye.

“Oh yeah, when I went to Hogwarts my friends would often call it The Forbidden Forest,” he attempted lamely.

“I see,” said Dumbledore, sounding like he didn’t.

Harry had no idea why the forests name hadn’t changed, but wondered if it had something to do with his father and his prankster friends not being at Hogwarts yet.

“You say you went to Hogwarts then Harry? What house were you in, if I may ask?”

“Gryffindor,” said Harry, wondering why the man was asking.

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled and Harry yet again failed to respond with an answering smile when he remembered that he had been swinging on a pole little over a day ago. Oh well, Harry was sure good at playing the part of a mysterious man, and anyway, he was mysterious; he was a time-traveller!

“So, where are you quarters, Sir?”

Dumbledore opened his mouth to speak, and faltered. Harry wanted to smack his head with a book (‘a little like Dobby’, he thought, and then reprimanded himself as tears came to eyes. It wouldn’t do to cry in front of Albus Dumbledore).

“Not far, only a corridor or so away,” the man replied, “but why do you call me ‘Sir’ Harry?”

“Uh,” said Harry, wracking his brains for an excuse, “I used to have a professor who looked a little like you.”

Dumbledore’s face cleared from its confusion - Harry’s excuse seemed to have done the trick, “here there is no need, for we are equals, are we not?” replied Dumbledore.

“I... yes.”

Harry’s pause made Dumbledore frown but he didn’t push the matter, much to Harry’s relief, “what was he like, this former professor of yours?”

Harry wondered how to give future Dumbledore his deserved justice, “wise, brave, and an excellent wizard,” Harry thought some more because Dumbledore had become almost desensitised to the battle in his last years, “but he could also be manipulative and cold, treating men as pawns in a chess match.”

Albus looked concerned, “I do hope I do not grow to become him,” he said quietly.

Looking at Albus’ kind, gentle face and wise eyes, Harry said, “I don’t believe you will. I believe you will choose your path with more compassion than he.”

There was a silence for a moment, and then Albus said, “were you in the war then, Harry?”

Harry wasn’t entirely sure what to say, “of sorts,” he replied, and Albus looked rather perplexed. Harry hid a grin - it was rather satisfying to confuse the wisest man in the whole of the wizarding world.

He quickly changed the subject before Albus asked any more questions, “I was about to head out for a walk before you appeared. Would you care to join me?”

As Harry had expected Albus agreed and the two of them walked out of the castle and down to the grounds.

 

“Does the Giant Squid actually have a name?” Asked Harry, as they skimmed stones by the edge of the lake. He had always wanted to know if the Squid was named, for it seemed that even Hagrid didn’t know when he had asked in the future.

“Yes,” said Albus, “she is called Lucy.”

At the sound of her name Lucy did a complicated flip in the water and Harry raised an eyebrow. He had never been that fond of the squid. She was just so squid-like and tentacle-y. On top of that, her ink reminded Harry of floating dementors. He shivered. And Albus noticed.

“Are you cold?” he Inquired surprised, as the sun beat down on their backs.

Harry opened his mouth to say ‘no’, but just the thought of the dementors had caused his body to break out into a cold sweat, and he shook again.

The memories whirled around and around;

 

Luna’s muffled shrieks of agony, Neville’s desperation as they tried to save her. And failed. And watched her fall, tumbling, gasping, into death. And watched a small smile creep over her face as her blue eyes went glassy.

 

The screams the screams the screams the-

 

“Harry!”

He snapped out of his trance to discover himself on the floor, gasping for breath. Albus was bent over him, looking like Christmas had been cancelled.

Whoops.

Harry hadn’t meant to lose control like that. “I’m sorry-“ he began, but Albus stopped him,

“Shh Harry, let’s get you to bed.”

And then he had picked Harry up in his arms, carrying him towards the castle like he weighed less than a feather (which, Harry reasoned, was probably true given how much weight he had lost when fighting the Dark Lord).

 

Before he knew it, they arrived at Harry’s door. Albus pushed it open and laid Harry gently on the bed, somehow making the manoeuvre natural and not awkward at all.

“Sleep well, Harry, and wake whenever you want,” said Albus calmly as he left the room.

Harry wanted to tell him to stay. Wanted to tell him about his nightmares that might go away for a night if Albus was with him. But he wasn’t brave enough.

Albus had left. Harry prepared himself for an awful nights sleep and the alarm clock of his own screaming.


	5. Almost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry begins to feel a little more at home with Albus, and term at Hogwarts starts!

Harry awoke.

His throat was raw, and when he tried to swallow he realised why. He had instinctively stuffed his fist in his mouth as he had often done when sleeping within the company of others during the war. After all, it wouldn’t do to wake the others with the sound of his screams.

Harry suspected that the walls of his quarters weren’t nearly as thick as they seemed, and he hoped that Albus hadn’t heard his muffled cries.

Getting out of bed, Harry opened the curtains and saw that it was very bright outside. He judged that it was around eight in the morning, which was surprisingly late for him.

Harry moved to the bathroom, showered, shaved, and put on some of the clothes that had randomly appeared in his wardrobe. He supposed that the House Elves had recognised his small statue, and somehow rightly guessed his taste in clothes because everything in the wardrobe looked like the clothing in his old wardrobe at Hogwarts. The thought was oddly disconcerting.

 

Harry found Albus Dumbledore in the Great Hall indulging his sweet tooth with a stack of pancakes.

Piling some scrambled egg and toast onto his plate, Harry grabbed a glass of orange juice and went to sit with his former mentor.

“Good morning Harry,” greeted Dumbledore, his eyes sparkling.

“Hello Albus, did you sleep well?”

“Perfectly, my friend, and you?”

“Yeah, fine,” Harry lied.

Albus looked at him and raised his eyebrows slightly, clearly not buying it, but Harry was relieved when he didn’t question him about his random collapse yesterday.

“What were you thinking of doing today?” Albus asked.

“I thought I’d re-familiarise myself with the layout of the castle.”

“Excellent idea,” commented Albus, “I have a few papers to attend to, and then I’d like to join you, if you wouldn’t mind?”

Harry agreed, remembering that he really ought to prepare for the new school term too.

That knowledge propelled him through the next month, and, as well as re-exploring the castle, Harry dedicated himself to writing an entirely new Defence Against the Dark Arts book, on finding all the ones of the time were frankly awful.

He also spent at least an hour of every day in the Room of Requirement working out to prevent his hands from shaking and his legs from bouncing when he was unoccupied. Harry was thankful for all the lessons that his teachers had taught him during the war, especially Moody’s of ‘constant vigilance!’ but now that he had stopped fighting he found it hard to remember how to be ‘normal’.

Nevertheless, Harry was slowly starting to remember it again through his walks around the castle with Albus. He found that he was rather starting to enjoy the mans company. It was almost like having Ron back. Almost.

Harry was sure that he would never meet another Hermionie though.

 

_*_

 

Albus was thoroughly pleased with friendship that he and the beautiful man appeared to be forming. Although he still couldn’t shake the image of Harry’s lithe body rotating around the pole, he did his best at trying to forget the image - it wouldn’t do to be attracted to Hogwarts’ newest member of staff.

Albus liked walking around the castle and the grounds with Harry, and he found that he didn’t even mind grading books or filling in paperwork when he knew that the other man was just down the corridor. It was a comforting thought to realise that he could pop his head around the door to say hello anytime, especially when he wasn’t that fond of his colleagues. It wasn’t that he didn’t like them, only that they were decidedly uninteresting. But Harry, Harry was a mystery. Harry was a puzzle.

Although he had only known the other wizard for a month Albus knew that he had fallen hard for him. He shook his head in annoyance at himself; and he didn’t even know Harry’s last name!

 

_*_

 

“What is your surname, Harry?” Dumbledore asked, as they skirted the edge of the Highly Discouraged Forest on a balmy August evening.

Harry, who had opened his mouth to say ‘Potter’, quickly closed it again on realising that the Pureblood Potter family was probably reasonably well-known in the Wizarding World, “Granger,” he said.

“Professor Harry Granger,” repeated Albus smiling, as his auburn hair caught in the sun, blinding Harry for a second with its brilliance, “it suits you.”

“Thank you.”

 

 

The last month flew by and the next minute Harry was sat at Dumbledore’s right hand side, talking quietly to him as the students of Hogwarts filed in.

Then, Harry felt his scar prickle in pain, and he felt for a moment only a blind panic.

He realised that Albus had a steadying hand on his arm, and found the strength to look up, surveying the sea of faces.

Seated at the Slytherin table there he was.

 

Tom Riddle.

 


	6. Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry begins teaching.

“-arry? Harry?”

“Huh?” Asked Harry dumbly.

“Are you alright?” The voice sounded concerned.

“What?” Vision was slowly returning to Harry, as were the rest of his senses. A blinding pain shot across his forehead and he groaned again, sinking into his seat, and then muffling the sound by stuffing his fist into his mouth - he didn’t want everyone at Hogwarts to hear him in pain.

“Not to worry, I’ve already cast a silencing charm on us,” Dumbledore’s voice drifted up to him again.

“Nurgh,” Harry said and then remembered his fist was still in his mouth, “I mean, thank you,” he corrected.

“Would you like to skip the sorting?” Dumbledore asked gently, “I can escort you to your rooms?”

Harry groaned inwardly. Not AGAIN! He couldn’t go through the embarrassment of being escorted by Dumbledore again, and certainly not in front of the entire school!

“No,” said Harry through gritted teeth, “I can manage.”

 

The sorting procession lasted for a much longer time than Harry remembered.

His recent collapse and the continuation of the burning pain of his scar had Harry wishing it could all be over fast. On top of this, he had to keep watching Riddle in order to try to gauge his character, wondering when the time would be right to ... well, kill him.

Riddle looked so calm as just another boy at the Slytherin table asking for the carrots. Not like a future dark lord at all.

Oh dear. Harry felt a painful and surprising tug at his heartstrings at the thought that he would have to kill a harmless teenager. Ohhhh dear. He didn’t like the way this was going at all, and hoped he would be able to actually kill the boy when the time came to it.

Harry looked down at his potatoes. He didn’t feel so hungry anymore.

 

When the feast finally ended, Harry somehow managed to drag his heavy feet upstairs.

He was so preoccupied with getting to his rooms as fast as possible that he didn’t notice Albus Dumbledore coming the other way, even when he almost collided into him.

“Oh hello Harry, I thought I might find you here,” said Dumbledore cheerfully, “shall we go inside? I wanted to ask you about the feast.”

Heart sinking, Harry pushed open the door to his room.

Once seated in the comfortable armchair, Dumbledore spoke, “what happened, Harry?”

Harry was ready with an excuse, “migraine,” he said, “I’ve been getting them pretty badly lately.”

“You have? I or Madam Christie up at the hospital wing would be perfectly happy to make you a potion,” Albus said gently, his blue eyes creasing in worry.

“Thank you, that’s very kind of you,” said Harry casually.

Dumbledore appeared to be casting around for something else to say, but couldn’t find anything and said quietly, “well, I will leave you to get some sleep before tomorrow’s full day of lessons, Harry.”

“Thank you Albus, sleep well,” Harry replied, closing the door behind him.

Sitting back on his bed and beginning to undo his shoelaces, Harry groaned.

Why on earth was he so attracted to his former headmaster, and why did his former headmaster have to be quite so good-looking?!

 

Unsurprisingly, Harry slept fitfully, waking every hour with a different person’s name on his lips having just relived their death in his nightmares.

Eventually, at five in the morning, Harry got up, unable to stomach any more dreams. He watched the morning dawn across the dewy, chilly grounds and made sure he was completely prepared for his day of teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons.

 

 

A few hours later Harry welcomed his first class of spotty and nervous-looking of third years.

Hmmm. He still wasn’t entirely sure how he was going to teach. Kind and wise like Lupin, or strict but fair like McGonnagal?

Or completely different.

How was he feeling?

Tired. He couldn’t be arsed with this bunch of Slytherin and Ravenclaws.

Maybe he’d be the savage teacher for his first lesson.

The third years would be able to handle it. He’d be nicer next hour. Would just test their nerves for the first hour and the next hour he’d be nice.

 

Harry grinned evilly and a few Ravenclaws looked apprehensive.

This was going to be fun.

“Alright then, you miserable bunch!” He shouted, and a few Slytherins jumped. Harry noticed that some of them were already sitting down, “why are you sat there?” He demanded, feeling irritated.

“It was our seating last year, Sir...” the Slytherin girl trailed off at Harry’s answering glare.

“Not anymore!” He announced, “everyone stand up! I’ll draw up a seating plan.”

 

Harry’s seating plan consisted of nearly all different-house seating. He smiled like a shark as the Ravenclaws went to sit glumly next to the smarting Slytherins. That ought to break the ice a bit. He still felt like Hogwarts encouraged too much competition between houses. Friendships between houses were not really encouraged even when he went to school years later.

 

“Someone tell me what you learned last year,” Harry barked.

A Ravenclaw put up his hand, and reeled off a list of half-useful spells. It sounded as though all they could really do was use Stupefy. Yeowch.

Harry levitated their books from last year into the fire one by one. Basking in the students’ shocked reactions, he grinned, and gave them all his new books that he had written himself.

“About time someone taught you something at least half decent,” he added, annoyed.

 

They spent the lesson practising ‘stupefy’, ‘expelliarmus’, and ‘protego’ against Harry.

It could have gone a lot worse and Harry was actually quite pleased with how it went.

At any rate, the students seemed to have enjoyed it, and walked out chattering happily about when they had “disarmed professor Granger - didn’t you see?! It was amazing!”

 

Harry smiled. They had been a nice enough bunch. If a little terrified of him.

Oops. He had some first year Gryffindor and Hufflepuffs next. Harry supposed he’d better go easy on them if he didn’t want tears immediately.

Ah well. He had fifth year Slytherin after them and was sure he could plan something educationally evil.

Harry grinned. Life was sweet.


	7. Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memes and vines are referenced.  
> Also, Harry’s a rubbish lier.  
> (A shorter chapter than normal - sorry!)

“Now everyone, I want you to watch me... Expelliarmus!”

Gasps could be heard around the classroom as Hattie’s wand went flying, “and that’ll yeet their wand right outta their hand!” Said Harry beaming.

 

A Gryffindor raised his hand looking confused, “ Professor, what does ‘yeet’ mean?”

Ooooooooooooops. Harry sighed. He was an idiot.

“It was a term we used when I was growing up,” he said, not untruthfully.

“Why do none of the other teachers say it then, Sir?”

Uhhhhhhhh.

“Because I’m much cooler than them,” said Harry winking.

‘Shuttttt downnnnnn!’ thought Harry cheerfully, as the students looked at him with a kind of reverence.

And then, “I’m telling Professor Dumbledore that!” said one of the snarkiest Gryffindors who clearly couldn’t take a joke.

Harry glowered.

 

 

“So Harry, a student told me today that you said you were cooler than me,” Said Albus conversationally over dinner.

Harry stared at him, utterly astounded. He had not thought the Gryffindor would have had the guts. Ugh. What a greasy first year that kid was. Harry wouldn’t have been surprised if he was Riddle’s best friend. What a little toad.

“That son of a -“, Harry thought he wouldn’t go any further - Albus’ ears were too delicate, “and anyway, I didn’t say that I was cooler than you specifically!”

“No?” Inquired Albus, eyes twinkling so brightly Harry was mesmerised and it took him a few seconds to reply.

“No!” He said defiantly.

“It took you a few seconds to reply then,” said Dumbledore beaming, “do I detect a lie?”

“Noooo!” Wailed Harry.

“Or did you just twist the truth ever so slightly?” Teased Dumbledore, “because I can assure you that even a so-called ‘white lie’ is still a lie, is it not?”

Harry glared. He felt Dumbledore was missing the point slightly.

“Yes, but-“

“Ah ah ah! No but-“ began Dumbledore, but was cut off by Harry shouting triumphantly, “WHA AH AHHHHHH!”

 

A slightly shocked silence filled the Great Hall as a very perplexed Dumbledore and equally confused student-body watched Harry fall off his chair and collapse on the floor with laughter.

 

_*_

 

Harry awoke, gasping.

A sliver of moon could be seen through the gap in his curtains and the moonlight was casting somewhat of an eerie shadow around the room.

His nightmares were getting worse. This time all he had heard had been screams.

Scream after scream. Scream after scream after scream. He shivered.

It had been Riddle’s screams. Begging him, Harry, for mercy.

And he hadn’t granted it.

He had been merciless. Just like Voldemort before him.

 

“Harry?” A voice was calling his name from the other side of the door. Harry had been so preoccupied with his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed it. And he didn’t recognise the voice.

“Hermionie?” He asked the darkness.

“No, Harry,” the voice was soft and kind, “Albus”.

Harry’s heart rate slowed. He found he could breath again.

“Can I come in?”

“Yeah,” said Harry, only realising now how rough and hoarse his voice sounded. As though he had been screaming.

“Who’s Hermionie?” Asked Albus gently, coming to sit on the bed next to him.

Harry paused. He couldn’t say it. But he had to.

“No one,” he said, hating himself.

“Stop lying,” whispered Albus, beginning to run a hand through his messy black hair.

Slowly relaxing into the other man’s touch and hating himself for that too, Harry said stubbornly, “I’m not.”

“You paused,” stated Dumbledore.

Harry was silent.

“Would you like me to stay?” Asked Albus, gently, still running a hand through Harry’s hair, as though it was natural to him.

Harry couldn’t. He couldn’t ask that much. He took a deep breath, knowing he would regret it, “no.”

Albus smiled and laid his head on the pillow next to Harry’s, “you’re an awful lier.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos keep me going! Xox


	8. Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry awakes to find something is different, and it turns out to be a very good morning.  
> (Sorry - another slightly shorter chapter again everyone!)

Harry awoke and immediately detected that something was different. Not necessarily wrong, just different. Even so, it wouldn’t hurt to be careful.

In a sudden burst of wandless magic Harry summoned his wand and pointed in directly at the movement he had detected to his right.

He met the sleepy and mildly surprised blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore, who said causally, “a good morning to you too, Harry.”

Harry blinked and began to withdraw his wand apologetically from Albus’ neck when there was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” said Harry, choosing instead to point his wand at the entrance to his room.

“Good morning Mr Granger, Ilde was just wondering if-!” the house elf broke off with a squeak of surprise upon seeing Harry’s wand directed squarely at his chest.

“Um, I’m sorry, but who exactly are you?” Said Harry, trying to be as polite as he could be under the circumstances.

“Oh yes, Ilde forgot to tell Professor Granger Sir, Ilde has been assigned as Mr Granger’s house elf for his time at Hogwarts, Sir. We only serve you at weekends because on weekdays you eat in the Great Hall, but because it’s Saturday today I’m here,” babbled the elf.

“Er, right,” Said Harry, who had no idea that this had ever been a thing at Hogwarts, “Well, hello, err,” Harry awkwardly lowered his wand, “and its just Harry, no need for any titles,” he had had enough of those to last a lifetime, he thought bitterly.

“Oh but Mr- ... Professor ...”, stuttered the elf, looking on the verge of a nervous collapse.

“Um,” said Harry, “it really is just Harry.”

“Oh but Ilde couldn’t! ... disrespectful! Shocking!” Squealed the house elf in distress.

“No, really Ilde, there’s no need for any formalities!” Harry reassured desperately.

“Oh but Professor - Mr - Granger - Ha-Harry is so kind!!” shrieked Ilde, sobbing.

Harry groaned inwardly. This was giving him an unpleasant feeling of déjà-vu.

“It’s fine, really Ilde, but um what did you actually come here to tell me again?” Asked Harry, who had forgotten why Ilde was here in the first place given his outburst.

“Ilde was just wondering if ... if Mr - ... Harry wanted anything for breakfast.”

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Ilde suddenly let out an almighty shriek. Harry thought he would be permanently deafened if this was his house elf.

“Ilde forgot to wish Harry Granger a good morning!” He wailed.

Harry stared, “uh, good morning?” He said.

“Good morning!” greeted Ilde.

“Good morning!” Said Harry, feeling like he ought to have sounded more enthusiastic.

“Goooood morning!” replied Ilde, even more cheerfully.

“Good morning,” Said Harry politely.

“Goooooooooooood morning to you!”

“And uh, a good morning to you.”

“No, a good morning to _you_.”

Harry wasn’t sure it would ever end, and looked up to the sky as if praying a lightning bolt could strike him.

Suddenly, someone coughed.

Harry blinked - in all the commotion he had forgotten that Albus was still sat next to him.

Apparently Ilde had never even noticed the other man because he gave another great scream and toppled out of sight, reappearing to say, “good morning to you too, Professor Dumbledore!!”

“Now Ilde, I’m not sure we need to start all that again,” Said Dumbledore cheerfully, “but I am rather hungry.”

Ilde, frowning, looked inbetween Harry and Albus, “Professor Dumbledore, Sir, why are you in Harry’s bed?”

There was a slight pause in which Harry saw that his reddening face was reflected by the dust of pink on the other man’s cheeks.

Of all the explanations Harry could think of, none of them seemed enough to stop the rumour mill so he settled for, “it’s a long story, Ilde.”

“I’ve got all day!” Ilde responded cheerfully.

“I don’t think so,” said Harry frowning disapprovingly at the house elf.

It did the trick and Ilde snapped out of his dreamy revere at once, “of course Harry, what would you like for breakfast?”

 

Having ordered baked beans on toast for himself and an entire English breakfast for Albus, Harry lay back down in bed.

He saw a small movement out of the corner of his eye and felt Albus’ fingers tangling in his unruly hair again, pulling him a little closer to the handsome redhead.

Humming, Albus combed his long fingers through his hair with such care that surprised Harry. He had never shared such an intimate moment with the former headmaster before and had never known him to act so lovingly.

It felt strangely right.

 

 

After their strongly anticipated and much enjoyed breakfast (for all his dippy-ness, Ilde was a very good cook), Albus turned his head to look at him.

“Harry, who’s Hermionie?”


	9. Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry remembers Hermionie and Albus has a strange dream.

Who had Hermionie been to him?

 

Harry thought carefully about his answer.

Far more than just bright and someone to go to if you wanted to hang out at the library, Hermionie had been level-headed, funny, caring, yes extremely intelligent, but so kind too, and brave. Harry had accidentally crossed her on her bad days more than once and she had been a force to reckon with - absolutely terrifying!

But despite all these words there was only one thing that Hermionie had been for him. Something that had meant more than anything in the world.

“A friend,” said Harry.

Dumbledore nodded, seeming to understand the gravity behind those simple words.

“Where is she now?” He asked, but it seemed he was fearing the answer if the heavy look in his blue eyes was anything to go by.

“Gone, dead,” Said Harry bitterly, “they all are.”

An expression of such anguish passed over the other man’s face that Harry wasn’t sure he had ever seen anything sadder. Not even sadder than Narcissa Malfoy when-. Harry had to stop himself.

“I’m the only one left now,” he whispered, the realisation hitting him properly for the first time like a physical blow, crippling him. ‘The boy who lived’ was certainly doing that. As everyone else died for him.

Albus’ fingers, which had stilled temporarily, continued to stroke his hair, calmly untangling the knots in Harry’s disorderly hair and making Harry’s stomach jump with pleasure - something he hadn’t felt for a long time.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” Dumbledore looked like he knew the feeling of loss, and Harry remembered that he did. After all, Albus had still blamed himself for his sister’s death years later.

“So you were in the Great War then?” Dumbledore was asking.

Harry realised he couldn’t lie again to the man, “no,” he said, unable to say anything else.

“No?” Dumbledore seemed incredibly confused, “but you were a soldier were you not?”

“Yes,” Said Harry.

“What war did you fight in then?”

“I’m afraid,” Said Harry, his voice shaking - he hated hiding things from his former mentor, “that I can’t tell you.”

Albus looked a little disappointed but he seemed to understand as he didn’t push the matter, “you are a mystery, Harry Granger.”

 

 

They lay in Harry’s bed, just like this morning, pressed together, skin against skin. Moaning as Albus found Harry’s cock, felt it. Heat, the heat was intense and Albus felt like he was burning up, but in the best way possible, like a Pheonix.

Desire pooled in the pit of his stomach and Albus traced Harry’s skin to discover scar after scar. He stopped, confused and worried, and opened his mouth to speak but Harry silenced him with a lustful kiss and when he drew back something was wrong. Harry’s eyes were turning blue and his beautiful black hair was now blonde and his happy smile was sneering and his scarred skin become ivory and Harry was Gellert Grindelwald. Grindelwald grabbed his cock and pulled and tugged ruffly and Albus knew there would be chaffing later and it hurt but Grindelwald was whispering in his ear and he felt the pleasure building again against his will and -

 

Dumbledore awoke with a gasp and his dream hit him with full force. Shaken, he stumbled out of bed and into the shower, refusing to replay the dream in his head; certainly not the first half.

 

_*_

 

Harry jolted awake, “hermi-“ he panted in terror.

Then he remembered where he was.

Hogwarts.

Home.

There was a knock on the door.

Harry ran a hand through his disobedient hair and tried to look presentable.

“Come in.”

“Happy Sunday, and a good morning to you!!” Squeaked Ilde.

Harry groaned, “‘morning Ilde,”

“Gooood morning!”

Harry sighed, this was going to take a while. “Good morning.”

“Good morrrrnnnninnggggg!”

Harry was sure he’d never like weekends again.


	10. Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry finds Tom Riddle a friend.

Harry’s first lesson the following Monday happened to be one that he wasn’t at all looking forward to. He was teaching sixth year Slytherin and Huffflepuff. That meant that he was teaching Tom Riddle.

Harry groaned.

He was sure that whatever he taught, Tom would already know it, because despite being a teenager Riddle was still a teenage dark lord and probably already capable of an awful lot of dark spells. Harry would have to see just how much Riddle knew.

 

Seeing as Harry had never taught this class before, the lesson began in the usual fashion - with a seating plan.

“Right then! Inter-house seating please!” Called Harry over the chatter of the excited students.

There was a lot of irritated muttering from the kids dressed in green, and a surprising amount of frowns from the Hufflepuff side who had always been labelled as the friendly house in Harry’s time.

“Come on, come on, it won’t kill you!” Harry said, raising as eyebrow as the students shuffled to desks looking as though they were at a funeral, “Yeah, but we might kill them,” muttered a Slytherin darkly. Harry chose to ignore this comment.

Once they were all seated, Harry quickly asked them for all of their names to add onto to the seating plan. Most of the students were rather disgruntled to discover that the parchment had a lie-detecting spell on it, “so no fake names or changing places!” Said Harry cheerfully to the glaring students.

No one among the crowd particularly interested him apart from Riddle really, and a noticed with satisfaction that the boy was seated next to quite a burly-looking Hufflepuff who, despite wearing a bright smile and seeming quite amusing if the titters of laughter around him were anything to go by, could no doubt look after himself if need be.

 

The students spent the entire two hours firing hexes at each other at Harry’s command, with the opposite student on the defence using a variety of defensive spells Harry had taught everyone at the beginning of the lesson.

Noticing on his rounds of the classroom the slight smile on Riddle’s face and the look of concentration in his eyes (clearly all these spells were unknown to Riddle before - Harry felt some slight relief), Harry ordered the students to swap roles after fifteen minutes and beamed at the look of glee in the Hufflepuff’s eyes and the apprehension in Riddle’s eyes - it seemed that the young dark lord was about to learn a very important lesson; that he was not invincible.

 

 

Harry settled in his usual place for dinner in the Great Hall - in between the Quidditch teacher Professor Shore who Harry often enjoyed talking brooms with, and Albus Dumbledore.

After years on the run without Molly Weasley’s cooking, Harry had grown worryingly thin and gaunt and was slowly putting weight back on due to the blissful Hogwarts’ food. Harry tried not to think too much about Molly and the Weasley family though. It brought him too much pain.

“I’ve been talking to some students about you, Harry,” Albus’s melodic, soft voice broke through Harry’s thoughts.

“Oh dear,” he replied, grinning.

“Why ‘Oh dear’?” Asked Albus,

“Because none of them are allowed to sit by their friends and it seems they’re really quite stroppy about it!” Harry smiled angelicly up at his friend.

“You think so?” Said Albus mildly.

“Well, yes,” Said Harry, “I put the slytherins next to hufflepuffs today and none of them were best pleased.”

Albus grinned broadly, “on the contrary, my dear Harry, they all speak very highly of you and seem to greatly enjoy your lessons.”

“Uh, really?!” Said Harry in disbelief.

Dumbledore’s eyes were twinkling more than ever now, “yes, they love the practical aspect of it, it seems.”

“Well, books don’t help out in the real world,” Said Harry, thinking of both Riddle and Grindelwald.

“Indeed,” Said Albus appraisingly, “and despite your surprise, they all said that they enjoy the opportunity to meet different people.”

“Who did you interview?!” Asked Harry incredulously.

“Olivia Padstone, Jackoby Yew, Matthew Littlyston, Lottie Thomas, Hannah Opal, Florence Françoise, Jake Dane, Carla Venegas, and Tom Riddle.” Albus paused, and added, “Florence and Carla added that they liked being able to speak in their own language with you.”

Oh yes, the blonde French girl and the surprisingly shy Spaniard. Harry had had to pick up the languages whilst tracking Voldemort - it had seemed that everyone didn’t speak English after all.

“Sorry, who did you say the last person was again?”

“Oh, Tom Riddle? He was the most enthusiastic - it seems you’ve finally given Tom a friend.”

Harry was gobsmacked.


	11. Sweet company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry finds himself in good company.

He sighed, combing a hand distractedly through his long auburn hair.

Why did he always have to fall for powerful people?

First Gellert Grindelwald, currently the most destructive and reckless wizard of all time, and now Harry Granger, a man so mysterious that Albus wasn’t even sure Granger was his last name, but whose magic was so strong it radiated off the shorter man in waves.

 

Perhaps it was because they were such different people.

There was Gellert, blonde, tall, and blue eyed, and then there was Harry, raven-haired, short, and eyes as green as the killing curse. The killing curse that, if Harry’s screams at night were anything to go to by, the man had seen far too many times to be stable.

Albus winced involuntarily at the thought - seeing the same green colour in the mirror that accompanied the deaths of all Harry had loved. It would be unbearable and Albus wished that the other man didn’t have to bear the burden alone, but it was obvious that talking about the deaths of his loved ones brought Harry much pain, and seemingly even worse, increased the power of his nightmares, and, although Albus had his own troubles they seemed meaningless compared to Harry’s.

He combed the raven hair through his fingers as it sprawled lazily over the pillow of the man next to him.

Albus had taken to sleeping next to Harry during the week days (so that Ilde wouldn’t find them together and spread gossip on the weekends), and he didn’t know if it helped Harry at all, but, and he knew it was selfish of him to think so, Albus found himself sleeping better and feeling calmer when he awoke in the mornings watching the sun rise over the dewy grounds, seeing the other man next to him.

Smiling fondly at Harry’s so-far-peaceful sleeping face, Albus cleared his thoughts from his head, and slept.

 

_*_

 

Harry happened upon the boy in the Astronomy tower.

He had just been going to do a little star-gazing (who was he kidding - Harry had been awful at Astronomy and couldn’t read many stars, he just liked to look at them), when his gaze fell upon Riddle, sat on the floor with his back to him, nose in a book. The boy looked so calm and tranquil that Harry almost didn’t want to disturb him, but he knew that it would be good to talk to him.

He coughed quietly and Tom Riddle spun around, his usually pale face going red when he saw it was a teacher,

“Sorry Professor, I know it’s past curfew, I’ll-“

“No, no,” said Harry smiling and sitting down next to him, “I’m not going to take any house points for being out past curfew.”

Riddle looked very confused and Harry reminded himself of the many times that Professor McGonnagal had caught him wandering the corridors at midnight, grinning despite himself.

Quickly changing the subject, Harry said, “what are you reading?”

“A book on Astronomy,” the boy went very pink, looking embarrassed, “I’m a little behind in the subject, so Michael lent it to me.”

Harry almost laughed - the idea of the future dark lord being worried about failing a subject as useless as Astronomy was absurd.

“Michael-?” He was pretty certain he recognised the name but he did teach millions of Michaels.

“Michael Mitchel, the boy I sit next to in your lessons, Sir.”

Ahhh, that made more sense.

“Ah, I know,” said Harry, “do you two get on well then?”

“Oh yes, he’s really funny!” Said Tom enthusiastically, a far cry from the impolite bastard that Harry had met in Knockturn alley, although he expected that in different clothes Tom didn’t recognise him.

“Michael sounds like a quite Muggle name,” Said Harry absentmindedly, testing the water for Voldemort’s hatred of all things Muggle, despite being a half blood himself, like Harry.

At these words, Riddle blushed indignantly, “I suppose Muggles aren’t so bad when you get to know them.”

“I suppose not,” Said Harry, mildly, “what spell would you like to learn next in my subject, Tom?” he asked, changing the subject again.

“I think the ‘bat bogey hex’,” said Riddle, grinning, “it sounds fun.”

Harry almost choked - the bat bogey hex was a spell he often associated with Ginny due to her gleeful usage of it.

Quickly, he said, “absolutely, that would be an amusing one, I’ll see what I can do.”

Tom grinned, but it wasn’t a cold, harsh grin like Harry was used to from Voldemort. It was a proper, boyish grin - a happy grin.

“Thank you Professor.”

That was a first too. Harry had never heard the dark lord state gratitude before. It was all too much.

“You’re welcome,” Said Harry, as the clock struck eleven. “Well Tom, I shall leave you with your book, but it is late so I expect you in your dormitory within the hour.”

“Of course Sir, goodnight Sir.” Tom Riddle sounded happy. It was very strange, but Harry thought it rather suited the young boy.

 

Harry descended down the stairs towards his room where Albus was surely waiting.

The other man had become a near-constant visitor in the nights and evenings and Harry found himself incredibly glad of his comfort, beautiful blue eyes, and fingers that, as he touched Harry hair or arm so gently, made Harry feel something that he hadn’t felt in years.

Albus made him feel wanted.

 

Walking through the corridors, he saw the magical and enthusiastic news bulletin flash.

It said;

‘ _Another attack on New York city. Thousands dead. Grindelwald behind the incident.’_

Harry sighed sadly and then almost laughed.

He was the boy who lived, who had had to watch his friends die for him, a many times escaped criminal, parselmouth, and a mentally unstable, powerful wizard, who had turned accidental time traveller.

Harry was in the same time period as the hormonal, future Dark Lord who would become the most feared man in the world, the most slippery and reckless wizard of all time, and the man who had had a love affair with the aforementioned wizard who would go on to be the greatest wizard ever known.

He was in sweet company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated! xox


	12. La Vie en Rose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is exhausted and Albus is there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry folks - it’s another short one, but I just wanted to get it up.
> 
> *no clue why but apparently I can’t post with italics because the site crashes on me, so I shall work on getting that fixed!
> 
> Hope you all enjoy! Xox

“Harry? I was beginning to think you weren’t coming back.”

The worried and yet calm tone of Albus’s voice reminded Harry painfully of his former headmaster. The man in front of him smiled as he sat on the edge of the bed. It was awful to see the twinkling eyes sometimes, awful to see the familiar face, awful to see the smile so bright. So bright it had to be hiding something. Dumbledore’s past, Harry remembered, had been awful, and he wondered if he had already had his time with Grindlewald, already watched his sister die in front of his eyes.

Harry blinked. This was not Dumbledore. This was Albus. This was different.

“Harry?” Now the man definitely sounded worried. Harry realised he hadn’t answered his question.

“I’m sorry, Albus, lost in thought, that’s all.”

Albus did not scold him or look disapproving despite Harry shrugging off the question. “It’s quite alright, Harry.”

Harry smiled, suddenly feeling incredibly tired. He swayed dangerously on his feet.

Albus noticed. “Come to bed, Harry, come to bed.”

And Harry went, not even bothering to get undressed and into his boxers and pyjama top, he collapsed onto his side of the bed.

“Are your thoughts troubling you, Harry?”

“I-.”

It was clear that Dumbledore took that to be a yes.

“Unfortunately I do not have a pensive, Harry.” Harry blinked, realising that he probably didn’t if he wasn’t Headmaster yet, “but I do pride myself on my massages.”

Albus’s voice was soft, kind, and Harry was desperately surprised - could the other man really be offering him a massage?!

“I- um,” said Harry, struggling for words, “is that an offer?”

“Why, yes,” Said Albus, smiling, “what did you think it was?”

Harry still couldn’t quite believe the former headmaster, “you give massages?” He asked, still incredulous.

Albus grinned, clearly finding Harry amusing, “only to certain people it has to be said.”

Harry paused, surprised to find out that Albus must like him if he was telling the truth, which he often was.

“Harry, if you feel unsure about this then we don’t hav-“

“No,” said Harry quickly, realising how much he didn’t want to let the opportunity go, “I- uh, sorry, I do.”

“You do?”

“Yes,” Said Harry, “I would like a massage, I was just a bit surprised, is all.”

Albus’s eyes twinkled affectionally, “well, that’s agreed then.”

“How do you want me?” Harry’s voice was beginning to slur slightly from exhaustion and he didn’t catch the surprised blink of Albus’s deep blue eyes, or the dusting of pink rising on his cheeks.

“Would you like to turn around?” Albus’s voice was slightly strangled but Harry didn’t pick up on it.

Turning onto his front, the younger man shifted, still a little nervous.

“Harry, if I do anything you don’t like you must tell me.”

Harry nodded, not trusting himself to speak proper English as the extent of his exhaustion became apparent to him.

Harry felt the mattress move and realised that the older man had got up. He watched Albus cross the room in measured, calm strides. The grace of the man was still something that Harry found surprising. Albus switched on a rather ancient radio and, although for a few moments all Harry could hear was crackling, a tune slowly became apparent.

Recognition flooded him as Édith Piaf’s dreamy voice filled the room.

 

 

“Quand il me prend dans ses bras,

il me parle tout bas,

je vois la vie en rose.”

 

“Harry?” a quiet voice whispered close to his ear.

Harry opened his eyes - he hadn’t even realised they were closed, “hmm?”

“We could forgo this massage until tomorrow if you just want to sleep?” Albus’s voice was soft and warm and Harry wanted to fall right into it and listen to the man forever.

... wait, what?

Sure, Harry knew that he was bisexual. He known since he was quite young, but that did not mean it was okay to fall for your former/future headmaster, he reminded himself, slightly shocked.

“Harry?” the gentle tones came again, mingling beautifully with the music playing quietly from the old radio.

“Yes?”

Harry knew that Albus was good-looking. The man had Auburn hair and stunning blue eyes, of course he was handsome! But he seemed to Harry to be more than that - Albus was quite simply beautiful.

And younger than the first time Harry had met him so surely, with the age gap presumably less (although Harry had no idea how old Albus actually was), it had to be socially acceptable, right? Right.

“Do you want to sleep or are you still up for this massage?” the beautiful voice again.

“Uh, I’m sorry Albus, did I drift off?”

“Only a little, my friend.”

“I really am sorry, what’s the time?”

“I would say about half past eleven.”

“Oh, I-“, Harry was used to later hours than this when he would lie awake, unable to sleep, haunted by the faces of all he had lost, wondering when a new one would appear in front of his red, raw green eyes, taken awake from him by Voldemort.

“It’s quite alright, Harry.”

“No, it’s not, I- are you tired? I’m sorry for keeping you awake.”

“It’s Saturday tomorrow, so I can assure you I am quite alright.”

Harry was surprised - a week of teaching made you forget that weekends existed sometimes.

“So, this massage...?” Albus let the question hang open-ended in the air.

“If you wouldn’t be opposed, I mean.”

“Of course not, Harry! I suggested it in the first place.”

“Well, I would be ... honoured then,” Said Harry, quite unable to express his gratitude.

Albus smiled down at him, his eyes twinkling more than usual (which was saying something).

“If you wouldn’t mind undressing, Harry? Only your top-half for now.”

Stiffening, Harry realised this might not have been the best idea. He still had thousands of scars all over his body from numerous curses that had been hurled his way during the war.

But then Harry remembered that Albus had properly been in World War Two at the very least.

He glanced up into the older man’s eyes and saw slight concern at his hesitation. Ah well. Harry quickly took his top off and lay back onto his front.

There was no noticeable intake of breath from the other man, but somehow Harry felt Albus’s shock at the long scar on his back that was probably a souvenir from one of Voldemort’s many killing curses, or one of Bellatrix’s cruciatus curses. Harry had lost count of the many curses he had been hit with when he turned 17. It had been easier that way. He could pretend some of them hadn’t even happened.

There was a quiet silence in the room, broken only by the radio, still playing Édith Piaf (Harry suspected Dumbledore had charmed it on repeat given that he had been humming along a few minutes ago).

Then, Harry heard the other man mutter something under his breath and he felt warm, oil-coated hands pressing gently on his back - Albus clearly hadn’t chosen to comment on his scars.

The older man began to gently work on his back, pushing with firm strokes, caressing him. Harry groaned.

And then suddenly realised how much of an awful idea this was.

 

It was too late to stop Albus now though, and Harry inwardly died as he felt the heat leap inside him, licking at his insides.

The other man rubbed tender circles on his back, skilfully teasing out all the knots and wound up tension.

Harry closed his eyes, the pleasant feeling and the pleasure inside him combining with his exhaustion. His eyes began to droop and the sound of the radio got slowly more distant but he could still make out the lyrics.

 

“Il me dit des mots d'amour

Des mots de tous les jours

Et ça me fait quelque chose

Il est entré dans mon cœur

Une part de bonheur

Dont je connais la cause.”

 

 

Albus’s hands were becoming slick with the oil now and Harry’s insides were still combatting the feeling of tiredness in favour of the pleasure that he wanted to keep feeling, just for a little while longer. It had been such a long time after all that Harry had felt anything other than an awful lot of pain.

 

Soft circles becoming imprinted into his skin.

The quiet rustling of the sheets around them.

Albus’s warm, calloused, careful hands.

Firm, gentle strokes with flat palms.

And the sound of the crackling radio filling the room. Édith Piaf’s velvety tones.

Albus’s breath on his back.

Albus’s hands.

Albus.

 

“C'est toi pour moi, moi pour toi dans la vie,

Il me l'a dit, l'a juré pour la vie.

Et dès que je t'aperçois,

Alors je sens dans moi,

Mon cœur qui bat.”

 

 

The exhaustion had won out and Harry’s head felt heavy. The radio was becoming more muffled with every passing second, and his eyes were closed.

 

“La la, la la, la la

La la, la la, ah la

La la la la”

 

Harry let the music carry him off and away.


	13. Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry considers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooray! I’m super glad to have written this fic but ah am I super glad to have finally finished it.  
> Sorry not the wait everyone, I know it’s a little bit disconnected but I’m just relieved to have it finally finished.
> 
> Let me know what you think! Xox

“Harry?”

Blinking blearily, Harry sat up, his emerald green eyes slowly adjusting to the dimly-lit room.

“Ah, there you are, I was beginning to think that the massage had carried you into a coma,” Albus’s quiet voice filled the room, pleasantly reminding Harry of his presence.

“Hmm,” he mumbled, stretching, “I wouldn’t have been surprised, was so good.”

Albus’s eyes twinkled, “yeah?”

“Yeah.”

A pause.

“Maybe we could do it again sometime? You could teach me the technique.”

“You’d be okay with that?” Albus questioned.

“Why not?”

Albus appeared to be struggling for words.

“Would you not be?” Harry asked, suddenly terrified that he had overstepped the line, but as he opened his mouth to apologise, the other man’s face split into a beaming smile.

“On the contrary, my dear Harry, I would be delighted.”

The younger man grinned, collapsing back into bed, suddenly aware that he had been about to stand up.

And then Albus coughed and Harry looked up.

“What’s up?”

“Are you aware of what day it is, Harry?”

“Uh,” Said Harry.

“I’ll take that as a no then,” the other man said, bemused.

Harry still looked reasonably blank.

“It’s Friday, Harry.”

Harry blinked.

“That means you are teaching today,” the sentence was delivered with a sympathetic smile.

“What.”

“WHAT.”

Leaping out of bed, Harry sprinted to the bathroom and grabbed some clothes out of the wardrobe as he went. It was going to be a busy day.

 

 

_*_

 

 

He walked out of his final class, on the last day of term, truly ready to have a break, truly ready to sit for hours on end with nothing but a book and Albus and an endless amount of time to spare.

But just before he did-

“Professor?”

Harry turned. It was Tom Riddle.

“Is everything alright, Tom?”

“Yes Sir, I-“ the boy looked unsure of how to proceed.

Harry waited, smiling patiently.

“I just want to say... thank you for everything that you’ve done for me... you’ve given me a friend, and a home here at Hogwarts, and I... can’t thank you enough.”

Harry grinned broadly, Tom seemed nothing like the Dark Wizard he had once been in another time, another place.

“It has been a pleasure to teach you this year, Tom, and knowing that I have helped you in a sense as well makes it all the better.”

A shy, hesitant smile, but none the less a smile, rose to the boy’s face.

“See you next year, Sir.”

“Until then, Tom, until then.”

 

Harry watched the boy walk out of the classroom, and then-

 

“Not a bad egg after all, that one, ‘eh?”

 

Harry grinned as his best friend’s voice sounded in his head.

 

“Honestly, Ronald! Don’t judge a book by it’s cover!”

 

“Unless it’s advanced potion making or one of Lockhart’s slimy books, O’course,” muttered Ron, but quietly, so that Hermionie couldn’t hear him.

 

“Honestly, you two, I swear I’ll never forget your voices the amount of arguments I’ve overheard lately,” Neville’s voice appeared in Harry’s head.

 

“Shut up, all of you! Harry’s busy! He’s got a war to win!” Said Ginny.

 

“Well you clearly haven’t been listening, have you, Sis. Harry’s just dissuaded the most evil wizard in all of history,” came Fred’s voice.

 

“What??!”

 

“Gosh, head in the clouds.... literally,” said George, snorting.

 

“Let the poor boy get back to seducing Dumbledore, alright?” Sirius’s voice echoed, and there was a quiet silence. And then everybody started talking at once.

 

“Yeah, c’mon mate, get your act together!”

“He’s clearly into you!”

“Go for it!”

“Just do it!”

“What is it the Muggles say? Ah yes, I ship it!”

“Go on, Harry, I bet he hasn’t had a good shag in-“

“WILL YOU SHUT UP THE LOT OF YOU!”

Harry grinned at the mutters of, “Sorry, Mum,” and then his head went quiet again.

 

Walking out the classroom and back to his chambers, Harry pondered.

Perhaps his attraction for the older man ran deeper than purely lust, perhaps... perhaps.

Surely the other man didn’t feel like that though? Not for him, surely.

 

“Harry,” it was his Mother, “this is the last night.

I’m sorry.

This was what you had to do, and now it’s done. You have to go back to us tonight, sweetheart.”

But. But. Harry wasn’t ready. He didn’t feel ready. He didn’t want to go back. Yes, he wants to see his friends, his loves, his family. But he wasn’t ready, not yet, he-

“Harry?” Albus was smiling up at him, “are you okay?”

Wrenching himself back into the present, Harry looked fully at the other man.

This was his last night.

It was worth a go.

 

Trembling with the effort of holding his nerve, Harry gently took the other man’s hand in his and brought it up to his lips, kissing his knuckles.

Albus looked slightly surprised but the twinkle in his eyes had not left, in fact it had become even stronger, practically dazzling Harry as he looked up at the older man’s wise, still young face.

“Harry...” the voice was full of tenderness, of care, and Harry felt himself go very weak all of a sudden. He felt vulnerable in a way that he’d never felt before. Not during battle, not in front of other lovers, nothing compared to this feeling of being utterly stripped bare, back to his very bones, his very core, his very soul.

And, looking into Albus’s eyes, Harry realised with a dizzying surprise that Albus was still smiling at him kindly, with the same deep, inexplicable, impossible love flooding into his face in a beautiful pool of glowing gold as the sun set outside and shone onto them both.

“Oh, Harry,” he repeated.

Harry felt rather than saw Albus move towards him and gather him up in his arms, kissing his forehead with such a softness Harry had hardly realised was possible.

 

The older man drew back after a few moments and returned again to looking at him straight in the eyes.

“You are beautiful, Harry,” he said, softly.

And Harry felt the terror return as his heart constricted. How did Albus know what he was like? He didn’t. He couldn’t possibly, and when he knew what he’d done during the war, just how many people he’d killed he wouldn’t think he was nearly as beautiful. He would think him ugly. A monster.

The panic that he was not good enough filled him and Harry began to choke aloud as his breathing became laboured.

“Harry?” Albus sounded worried and he stepped back, bending down to his height and searching with his eyes for what Harry was feeling.

 

Suddenly, unexpectedly:

 

“it’s okay to be afraid of what you want, Harry.”

 

Luna’s silvery voice entered his head softly, quietly, and it felt so much like she was really at his side that Harry had to look around the room quickly to reassure himself that she wasn’t really there at all.

 

“I’m here inside your head, Harry. That’s enough, isn’t it?”

 

A pause.

 

“This is what love is, Harry. Someone finding you beautiful in all the ways you cannot see your beauty yourself.”

 

Albus voice drifted up to him, “Harry?”

Grasping onto the voice like a lifeboat in the middle of a ferocious, enraged sea, “Albus,” he responded desperately, “Albus, I-“.

“It’s okay, Harry, it’s okay.”

Harry was laid on their bed, and clearly had unknowingly been thrashing about. His legs were tangled with Albus’s and they were both trapped within the covers. Harry smiled. He felt as though they could have been a married couple.

 

They lay there, quietly for what felt like hours. They didn’t speak really, not a lot, and Harry felt the peace descend upon them like a warm blanket as Harry ran his fingers trough Albus’s long, auburn hair.

 

The afternoon turned to evening and the evening turned to night outside.

 

 

“It’s time to go, Harry.” His Mother spoke, a sad smile in her voice.

“But I don’t want to go now, I’m-,” for the first time since his suicide attempt, since the death of Hermionie, of Ron, of Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Teddy, Luna, Neville, Fred, George. Of everyone. Harry realised. “I’m happy.”

“You’re happy, Sweetheart?”

“Yes,” this time it was definite. It was solid. It was sure. It was true.

“Then, stay.”

So Harry stayed.


End file.
